


Promise me / I promise.

by axecut



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axecut/pseuds/axecut
Summary: Confessions of the heart cry just as loud as the dead.Sylvain and Mercedes reunite after those five years and make a promise to one another at the Goddess Tower. They soon realize they have more in common than they thought.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Promise me / I promise.

The professor was back. 

It was strange stepping foot back into the monastery and for it to still be relatively intact, all things considered. However, the statues of worship were nothing but marble crumbled to the ground and the rock of stubby walls and decorative pillars were shattered during the catastrophe that was war. But the people who were devoted, who still had their faith, who still believed _in something_ came back. Through caring hands and diligent work, the death and gore that once riddled the place were swept clean, buried under a rug and prayed for in the name of the Goddess. The Blue Lions were not exempt from that, and it started with a promise five years ago.

It’s almost silly how in the face of hell that such sentimental thoughts still linger in people’s minds. That even with bodies spread and scored with arrows, skin slashed by blades, organs punctured with an adept lunge of a lance, gale paper-cutting the throats of men and shields bouncing back an opposing arsenal like a drum that even a passing thought of something so simple and longed for would still provoke something in their willpower. Still, they did; loyalty bound and romanticizing the dream of simplicity. 

Their reunion was a somber celebration. With the King placed before the mountain of dismantled glory in the cathedral, muttering things only he understood, seeing things only he understood, feeling things he didn’t understand, the Blue Lions were torn between relieved smiles and fallen frowns like theater masks. Going back to their respective rooms and seeing the royal blue carpets laid out on the wooden panels, belongings somehow intact and collecting dust, beds messy and not-so-messy depending on the person filled each gut of their stomachs with an inexplicable guilt. Were they so deserving of this luxury while their old classmates were pitching tents and sleeping inside bags that coiled around them like cold plastic crinkling around even colder bodies — they know they’re not so worthy. They all counted their blessings and were at the very least grateful for the opportunity to live someplace more comfortable. _Comfortable_ being said lightly.

After a celebratory feast (if you could call it a feast, former students and monastery devotees alike salvaging what little could be found in such short notice, gnawing meat off squirrel bones and popping berries between their teeth) some others returned back to those rooms, air stale and just the sounds of their heels clicking the floors triggered a memory of their school days. Some couldn’t handle the taste of stagnancy. Nothing quite felt like home. Nowhere felt like they belonged. 

Some have felt this way since the beginning.

* * * 

A sick nostalgia welled in Sylvain’s chest and pooled into his gut like a tipped bucket. He could feel the splash-back in his throat, burning it raw. It was bittersweet, but he was so full of animosity. Not towards the rubble that’d scrape the concrete beneath his feet as he walked his slow steps towards the middle of the Goddess Tower, not towards the debris that sullied a once beautiful prospect, but in general. Sylvain, in his entirety, had always been a man riddled with thorns of scorn, plastic petals of admiration, and he’d snap the stems and puncture his flesh willingly with a stubborn clasp.

He always looked his best with honesty on his face. Even if it were disgust curling his lip, hate pressing an eyebrow to the center, eyes lidded in dark thought. Sylvain was still handsome. Although, some may consider that a specific taste for the broody and mysterious.

“Hello Sylvain,” greets a similar voice. 

“Mercedes.” He welcomes, a warmth found in his voice not many others would hear.

And she, _she was ethereal._ Always so quiet, attentive, full of a readiness that Sylvain had always admired from afar. Her voice was a delicacy he didn’t deserve to savor. Her holiness was a light worth blinding, and he’d fall to his knees and worship her right here and now if not for the formality of standard social norms.

“What are you doing here?” Mercedes hands were folded in front of one another.

“Could ask the same of you.” Sylvain’s hand was on his hip. After he’s had his chuckle, he replies more seriously. “I was just taking a good old walk down memory lane while we’re back at the monastery.” 

“Oh, so you as well?” There was a comfort in her voice, both in her heart and how she spoke it. It was as if the relief in finding common ground leapt from her chest and met Sylvain’s, filling him to the brim with that same warmth. 

Sylvain saw her curl a finger to her lips and smile. His own heart met his throat and he smiled too. 

“Yeah.” He replies simply.

The Goddess Tower didn’t look terribly different as it did five years ago. It looked relatively the same with some cracks and rubble here and there. Some larger wedges of split concrete, dirt spread of the ground where many a foot had ran here for refuge against whatever horrors had driven them there. Dried blood was stained, crayoned on the floor and walls.

It still had the same charm as it did back then, all things considered. Or maybe Sylvain was used to tragedy being the mundane.

Mercedes begins to look around, her steps quiet and echoing with the heel of her boot. A sad wonder fills her eyes, like she was seeing an old park haunted with age, rusted equipment chipped with vibrant paint and it’s like she could remember how the metal bars felt along the palms of her hands as she slid down the slides, except it wasn’t that — but it was just as cold, just as lost, just as pushed back into a distant feeling that could only be resurfaced with a triggering sense.

That same reminiscence Sylvain homed in his gut reflected in her eyes. The air was cool, stagnant, like the breeze had frozen into place. Sylvain became self aware of his breathing and snapped out of that consciousness the moment she spoke again.

“Say, Sylvain.” She turned her head and her hair, now short and framing her face, whirled and bobbed at the ends, and he wonders if the breeze that he was convinced was frozen was alive around her instead. “Did _you_ take anyone here during the ball?”

Her question was asked with a smile. A need for lighthearted banter.

“Who? Me? Heh… Well… Let’s just say I had quite a few lovely ladies meet me here.” None. He’s lying. “So it was hard to pray for my utter devotion to just one without the others getting mad.”

That’s the answer she wanted to hear, right?

Mercedes laughs. “Come now, I know you’re just teasing.”

And she was never easy to fool.

So he laughs too.

“So what about you? Did you meet anyone here that night?”

She simply shakes her head. “I was having too much fun at the dance with everyone to really think about coming here.” Mercedes had the most fun watching everyone dance, trip over their own feet, seeing newly budded couples grow red in the face taking one another’s hand in their own. Of course, she had her own fair share of dances-- although, she couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Her being the oldest student, she felt like she was missing out on the youthful romance of it all.

“Really? You didn’t want to come here to pray?” Sylvain seemed genuinely surprised. “You could’ve met the love of your life here, y’know.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to come here.” She looks off in thought, remembering her time those five years ago. “Though I was curious about who I'd find there if I did go...”

The professor had disappeared into the night. It was safe to assume that both of them were itching to know where they had run off to. Although, neither of them pursued them. Some speculated they had met Dimitri that night, who had also disappeared around the same hour. None could say for certain. It did spark some entertaining rumors, though.

Mercedes would giggle speculations with Annette.

Sylvain didn’t care. Maybe in certain conversations he played the fool who did care for the gossip, but ultimately his feelings towards Byleth were conflicting, and not in a way you’d expect with how he paints himself. 

Everyone celebrated when the professor was found again. Within good reason. They were everyone’s beloved professor, after all. The spotlight wasn’t what he envied, the love, the attention, the relief of them being alive. No, it was their luxury. How easy life was given to them on a silver platter and how easy it was for them to swallow their meal while Sylvain chewed through the grit and grime and was expected to smile and compliment the chef.

But this wasn’t about his disdain towards his teacher, an unjust jealousy that he’d bite his teeth over if he thought about their bliss in ignorance for too long. His feelings these past few years have simmered since then, at least. Maybe Sylvain wasn’t so much full of hatred as he was in his youth.

It was hard to be so angry in the presence of someone so heavenly anyhow. He’d feel guilty if he let that aggression show in front of her again.

Sylvain huffs out a laugh. “Well,” he begins, his smirk up to no good. “I hope that legend still holds true, wouldn’t you agree?”

That if two people met at this tower and made a wish, the Goddess would grant it. Or something like that. 

“What brought that up?” Mercedes was an innocent heart, but don’t let her innocence be feigned as ignorance. Her eyes were always so gentle, though, and lacked the foreboding fog of something deeper behind them. Nothing so empty as his own, nothing so drooped with acrimony of a favored child whose blood was praised by the masses. They were sweet. 

He envied that too.

“ _Weeell,_ ” he begins again, comma punctuated with a huffed chuckle. “Because, I think I just met the love of my life here.” 

Mercedes giggles. “Have you now?” It’s almost teasing. 

Sylvain’s smile is slight, and it met his eyes regardless. Something about Mercedes was so comfortable, that even with such nonchalance at the face of his confession he feels natural.

“Mercedes,” his tone is gentle, “I want to make a promise with you.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” she interrupts, and her expression remains just as sweet. 

Sylvain’s eyes widen a little bit.

“Huh?”

“I need to make a promise with you first.”

Sylvain replies with a few curious blinks of his eyes, surprise widely worn.

It’s unbelievable how warm she was. Maybe it’s all just complemented by how cold and dreary this tower leaned, how the breeze of the Ethereal Moon howled past the cracks of open arches and the aged crumbled bricks that spilled moonlight. A strong current often times would whistle by and the black tree roots that clawed and wedged within the walls like wicked fingernails would creak and rattle at the force. It all seemed haunting, a place of promise and prayer overturned by man-made destruction and nature weaving into the fixture.

Mercedes smiled, and her eyes seemed tired.

“I want to see you here again.”

Before Sylvain could make a sound, she kept going.

“Promise me, Sylvain… That after this war is over… You’ll meet me here.”

And then he tries to laugh, but it comes out as a huff from the weight that lay in his chest as if his heart were beating molasses and it slowly dripped out of the slots of his rib-cage. His eyes close, and he kept that smile on his face. A hand was still firmly clasped to his hip. 

“Of course, Mercedes.” The answer came easy. “And for my promise…” He breathes in deep. “I want you to stay alive.”

It was Mercedes turn to widen her eyes, but it was short lasting. Soon the surprised washed away soft and seamless. “Will you be the one protecting me?” 

A nod. “Of course. As long as you protect me, too.” Something about that was hard to say, like he was admitting something he never had the nerve to say. Perhaps it was admittance to vulnerability, a window view through translucent curtains of his heart, still dripping with that same heavy molasses, still pooling in the gut of his stomach, still whirling a cesspool of worry that ate at his stomach lining with razor-webbed teeth. 

He was scared. 

“And one more thing,” Mercedes says. “Promise me you’ll stop being so reckless when you fight.”

“Getting a little greedy there with your promises, aren’t you?” Sylvain teases in defense.

“While I don’t mind protecting you, Sylvain… Part of protecting me is ensuring your safety as well. If you throw yourself into danger without thinking, how can I trust you to keep true on your promise?” 

“I--” 

“So promise me you’ll stay alive, too.”

“...” 

His eyes shut. Silence follows and all he hears is the wind surfing the tides of a winter’s gentle storm. Mercedes patience sears a hole straight through him and that warmth she pours seeps into his veins and purifies the sludge that coiled around the wedges of his bones like a warm hug lifting his spirits.

“I promise.”

She seemed satisfied with that. 

So he was satisfied too.

This isn’t where he thought his fairy-tale confession would end up in the long run. Perhaps an, _I love you too, Sylvain!_ Or an, _Oh My! I never would’ve guessed! Oh please Sylvain, sweep me off my feet and carry me into the sunset so all of Fódlan can see our love!_ But there he stands, slightly nipped at and having the entire confrontation whipped and turned around and served on a tepid plate. Not that he minded the turnabout, but his weight shifted to his leg and his head hung for a moment, weighed by thought, and he sighs.

It wasn’t a bad talk. It was good in fact. It held hope, which wasn’t something many people could hold on to these days that wasn’t an idolization. Maybe he’s just worried he won’t be able to keep his promise. After all he’s got several on his belt worth saving. Or maybe it was simply because it was another promise to stay alive. To be alive, to stay alive, to swear an oath to live and to live and to live, when so many had wished to steal his life, when so many had wished him dead. He wonders if these little promises are what kept him alive this long.

He chimes in before Mercedes can read too far into his head. “Mercedes.” 

“Yes?”

“Did anyone take your hand at the White Heron Cup?”

“I danced with a few people, but…” 

“Didn’t you say you wondered who you’d find if you went here that night?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Is that… Maybe why you’re also here tonight?” Sylvain questioned, smug. 

“It sounds like you’re asking me to dance.”

“And if I am?”

“Then I accept.” Her hand extends out. Sylvain takes it within his own.

The Goddess Tower was no ballroom. It wasn’t charming by any means, lit by warm candlelight and filled with the mirth of clammy and excited students ready to swoon whoever they could twirl. It lacked the ambiance of incessant chatters, the chords of a violinist paid in their practice, perfectly polished heels tapping along the marble floors. Instead their feet crunched the dirt into dust as they waltz hand-in-hand, and the moonlight flickered like a street-post through the ripples of beaten brick. 

Their smiles were real. They danced wordlessly for some time, captured by the sight of each other’s eyes. A time came where they almost stumbled over a large piece of rubble, and they giggled as Sylvain almost tripped over it, a little _oops_ and Sylvain’s smile was bright, as were Mercedes, and their chests were light. 

Sylvain finally felt warm. Like he had belonged somewhere. He wonders if Mercedes felt the same. 

And he’d feel guilty if she felt like she belonged in his arms. But he was greedy, and kept her close, feeling the softness of her eyes and drowning in the pools of her eyes. Just for a little bit longer, he thinks, he wants to enjoy this for just a little bit longer and seize this moment.

As the moon slides across the night sky, their source of light starts to shift away and they slowly become blanketed in shadows. Sylvain could still see with the little luminescence they had and his feet stop moving. “Should we call it a night, milady?” Their hands are still woven into each others, with less grip, but still enjoying the warmth of one another. “It _is_ starting to get awfully dark.” She agrees, and their palms release their clamp. “Yeah.” He says. As their arms go back to their sides, they don't part just yet. Sylvain looks down at her, and tucks some hair behind her ear with a sweep of his fingers. Her cheek steals the chance to press into his palm and he nestles her with a cradled hand. 

“We’ll meet again soon, won’t we?”

“Of course we will, Mercedes.” 

As Sylvain pulls that hand away, her hands chase after it. They pull his hand to her chest, against her heartbeat, and she holds him dear in a silent prayer. Her eyes shut. He just watches. Mercedes’ heartbeat ran rampant, speaking to the pulse in his wrist. 

“I’ll make sure of it.” He promises quietly in a whisper. Mercedes just nods, belief firm in how she held him.

“I want to dance with you again, sometime.” She whispers back, and he swears he could see her eyes carefully glide back open.

“We will.” 

“Do you promise me?”

With a nod of his head, and his fingers clutching her hands, he replies, “I promise.”


End file.
